Don’t be worried, folks, but I’ve been thinking about death a lot.
I will die.
I am not afraid of dying. I like life, right now, but I know that one day I will die and then I don’t know what will happen but I think probably ‘nothing’ is what will happen to me. If there is no me then there is no ‘happen’.
I have, in the past, tried to kill myself; people have stopped me, which is appropriate because it is people that are the reason we are here. We are social animals, each the warm centre of our little social galaxy. We love, adore, cherish, befriend, we have so many words for the ways we profit from each other. I love some people. They know who they are (I bet a few of them will comment here!) and they, I hope, are glad of my love as I am glad of theirs. And I hate other people. Which is odd, because hate and love are, as Shakespeare himself noted, both driving forces. In fact, I’d say they are the only driving forces behind our species. The only ones that count, anyway.
I love life, in all its forms, with a few exceptions. I hate pathological organisms. Some of these aren’t even really organisms- HIV-1, for example, is a virus and extremely pathological- but I hate it. Some of them are microorganisms- I really hate cholera and I long for the day when developing countries and disaster areas can be free of this sewage-borne killer as we are in the developed world.
And some of them are macro-organisms. If you’re one of these, you’ll know about it, because when it comes to telling people what I think of them I exercise no restraint. See, this comes back to what I’ve said above. I’ve lived a turbulent life and I’ve been through it all. I’ve done things most people could never imagine, and I’ve seen things most people wouldn’t believe. I want to experience more, I want to experience as much as life can offer me, and that means time is short. I don’t have time to mess around pleasing you; if I don’t like you, I’ll just tell you so.
This has, of course, led to friction in the past. And it is leading to friction now. But I prefer that friction to the utter death that is being nice to someone I can’t stand. Do you see? This is why I can’t just shut up. This is why I can’t help it. It’s compulsive; I have a sort of Tourettes of the opinion. If you want me not to argue my point, then it’s very simple:
Be less wrong.
How hard is that to understand?